


(Don’t) Look Before You Leap

by Maarii88, TheAfterglow



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Colorado horseback riding, Dr Ben Solo, Equestrian, F/M, Horseback Riding, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Rey learns to ride Solo, Rider Rey, Summer Olympics, buckets of fluff, happy trails (and not the wooded kind), roll in the hay, they're not just riding horses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25295917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maarii88/pseuds/Maarii88, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAfterglow/pseuds/TheAfterglow
Summary: “He’ll take care of you,” is what Luke said when he sent her to his nephew’s horse ranch in Colorado. After an almost career-ending fall, Olympic jumper Rey doesn’t have many options.That’s how she ends up living with a doctor with lonely eyes and a soft touch._OR_Rey & Ben engage in some good 'ol sexual healing in the mountains of Colorado.Prompt from @galacticidiots on Twitter!
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 37
Kudos: 193
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection





	1. Chapter 1

_It’s the eyes_ , he thinks. _It’s always the goddamn eyes._

The splashy words spilling across his screen are the same as always - depictions of a rising star, complete with flowery prose and bold photos to distract from the harsh realities behind being named an elite show jumping star. But her strong curves and freckled cheeks aren’t what make him clench his jaw in indecision. 

It’s the light in her honest, hazel eyes, spilling radiantly from the tablet clenched tightly in one hand and leaving him temporarily speechless. 

“You still there, kid? Did I lose you?” His uncle’s rasp bites into his consciousness with an undertone of sarcasm. Ben clears his throat. 

“No, I’m here. I …” he trails off in a sigh, picking his phone up from one leg and moving the tablet to the other. He doesn’t look away. 

“I know it’s asking a lot, Ben, inviting a stranger into your house and all, but - ” Luke trails off. The splash of a puddle echoes through the tinny speaker. “We’re the closest thing to family she’s got -”

Ben snorts, an angry sound. “What, the owner of the dead horse can’t even spare a few pounds to put up his star rider?”

“And you’re the closest thing to a physical therapist, which she needs.” Luke breezes past his pointed question. “Along with some peace and quiet.” 

“Away from the media, right?” Ben mutters. He’s all too acquainted with that three ring circus.

“Exactly. So. What do you say? Can you help?” 

The shrill pings of a crossing signal echo through the phone’s speaker, punctuating Ben’s heartbeat, which has all of sudden made its way into the back of his skull in the form of a throbbing headache. He sighs, finally breaking eye contact with the headline picture on the Vogue article - _Rey Niima: England’s Olympics’ Hope_. One hand settles atop his face, unable to make the decision with eyes open. 

“Sure.” 

One word. Easy to say. Hard to hold onto. 

Luke is grateful, the tinge of worry dropping from his tone as he thanks Ben from across the ocean and assures him he will call with Rey’s travel arrangements soon. Ben can hardly speak to reply, the twisted knot of tension in his stomach growing with every passing second.

This was a mistake. 

Putting himself within even ten feet of that world would never end well. He had moved to the middle of nowhere precisely for this reason - to keep their world out of his; to get out of their hair and untangle himself from the mess he was already on his way to making. Before he could sully the family name. 

Ben stands and plods his way to the kitchen, taking the tablet with him. A finger of whiskey later, and he stares into those eyes, ice melting and clinking against the dewy glass. 

_Fuck._

* * *

_One month earlier…_

Rey comes to, surrounded by flowers. The soft beeping from one of the machines to her left picks up its tempo and changes to an insistent sound as she moves, tries to sit up. 

Her limbs feel like lead. Her head throbs. Shit, her whole body throbs.

Her leg--she can’t feel it, but she knows it’s bad. Raising her head a few inches off the pillow allows her to see it and the beeping intensifies as she takes in the sight.

Her lower leg is studded with metal pins sticking up down the length of her shin, and her foot is encased in a white plastic boot that makes soft breathing sounds as it inflates to massage her flesh. It’s swollen to the point of unrecognizable, like it was tacked on from someone else’s body. 

“Good morning!” A chipper attendant greets her from the doorway before entering her room to silence the monitors. “And how are we feeling?”

Rey squints at the young man in scrubs, trying to remember if she’s seen him before. Time seems meaningless here and the drugs are making her fuzzy.

“You’ve got some visitors, if you like? They’ve been waiting for you to come ‘round.”

She nods, knowing exactly who it will be. She doesn’t want to see them but it can’t be put off. 

Rey closes her eyes, trying to recall the accident.

She can picture the lay of the course, just like she learned from the psychologist. Of course the team walked the course on foot beforehand. She had watched her competition make their rounds and knew where the tight turns were, where to speed up and where to rein Skychaser back. 

The announcer’s voice faded into the background once they were in the arena, and things had gone well until Skittles clipped a rail on the oxer ahead of the water jump. The crowd gasped as one but she urged him on with a light press of her spurs. He surged forward under her, gathering momentum and fighting her as they barreled towards the next hazard. 

“Easy!” The word came too late--they were already a stride too close when they lifted off and she could feel the crash coming before it happened. He plowed into the topmost rail with his front knees and they were headed down, down, down to the ground at a strange angle when she saw the wood was between his front legs. 

The beeping picks back up and Rey breathes against it, against the way her heart is racing now. 

The whole thing couldn’t have been longer than three seconds.

One: they landed, and his head jerked down against her hands to try to catch his balance.

Two: she was flying, her stomach in her throat to realize she was airborne again and not on her saddle.

Three: sandy, dusty impact just before his weight ground her into the surface of the ring like a rag doll, the angle of her landing all wrong.

The next thing she recalls are hands--touching her, rolling her onto a backboard and cutting the straps of her helmet with scissors, shielding her eyes from the glaring sun. The medical team is talking to her but from the corner of her eye she sees the vet team standing around Skittles.

He was down, not moving, and that’s when she knew. One man crouched near his shoulder and while she couldn’t see his hands, she could see his tackle box of equipment open beside him in the dirt with a vial of something clear uncapped and glistening in the sunlight.

“Rey, look at me?” A tech above her shone a light in her eyes. “We’re going to get you to hospital. The ambulance is coming in now--they’ve just got to clear some of the course to make room. How’re you doing?”

Rey squeezes her eyes shut now against the tears that threaten to leak down her cheeks. She hears her trainer’s voice mingling with several others in the hallway before he appears in the doorway. 

* * *

He takes in the young woman seated across from him without comment. She hasn’t seen him for a while but this session came down by mandate from the _chef d'equipe_ of the national federation. It wasn’t worth starting the timer but ten minutes have passed in awkward silence punctuated by her short answers to his questions. 

She sits with her leg propped up on a leather ottoman, toes still exposed in the walking boot despite the temperature and light drizzle outside. The swelling’s gone down and the skin around the metal rods is no longer oozing but it’ll be months before she gets the boot off. Her jeans are baggy to fit over her mangled leg, her wool sweater pools around her waist on her slender frame, hair in a messy ponytail.

She looks a far cry from the beauty who graced magazine covers and modeled handbags for Hermes just last season.

“Without Skychaser as a mount, I have nothing,” she admits. She picks at a run in the denim on her thigh, not making eye contact. “I can’t work like this. I don’t know when I’ll be able to ride again… or--” She breaks off, her unspoken _if_ hanging between them.

“Sometimes our goals change suddenly. It takes time to adjust and set new ones.” Luke says this, knowing it’s not what she wants to hear.

She seems to deflate further at this and he regrets his pragmatism immediately. Her whole world was turned upside down in an instant. She deserves to be coddled, at least at the moment.

When their eyes meet again, something in her look reminds him of --  
  
He finds himself speaking before he thinks it through.

“I think you should go to the United States. My nephew--he’s a doctor in Colorado and keeps a few horses at his place. He’ll take care of you.”

“Oh, no--I couldn’t,” she shakes her head and tucks her hands inside her sweater cuffs. “I’m sure he’s--”

“I’ve already spoken with him --” ok, that was a lie. He hadn’t spoken to Ben in a while, not since Ben had settled out west, really, “ -- and he’s fine with it. He understands you need to get away from all this for a while, take some time for yourself to recover.”

Rey’s eyes turn guarded in an instant and Luke forces himself to breathe as if his suggestion were perfectly normal. Of course going halfway around the world to stay with a man you’ve never met after a possibly career-ending injury is normal. Who wouldn’t do that?

“Is it nice there? I’ve only ever been to Florida.” She sounds small as she asks this, childlike, and Luke knows she’s picturing her string of foster homes. Her international travel has been limited to competitions, and Colorado is hardly a hotbed for show jumping. 

In truth, he’s never visited Ben. His sister says the ranch is nice. Well, _he’s happy there_ were her exact words. Luke distantly recalls Leia commenting something about it needing a woman’s touch.

“It’s beautiful,” he replies without hesitation. “Lots of sun, wide open spaces. A lot drier than England.” 

At least this isn’t an outright lie. 

“How soon?”

“I’ll double-check with him, then we can arrange your travel. Sound okay?” 

Her nod is hard to detect with her chin tucked to her chest.

“Okay.” Luke repeats himself. “So it’s a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome! This is the first fic either of us has cowritten -- we hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Shout-out to this [Vogue article about Charlotte Casiraghi](https://www.vogue.com/article/charlotte-casiraghi-riding-high) for inspiring us!


	2. Chapter 2

_Three weeks later, early April_

He feels dumb holding the sign as he stands among the paid drivers at the bottom of the escalator, waiting for her to appear. The information boards show her plane landed nearly a half-hour ago but she has yet to emerge from the throngs making their way out of Denver International. 

Ben tugs his hand through his hair and glances at the sign again, his block printing stark against the white cardboard he tore from an empty supplement box in the barn. 

Niima.

She’s haunted him for weeks now, a nervous anticipation building every time he double-checked the flight info Luke sent him after their call. It’s not like he’s lain awake reading the glowing words in riding magazines about her, a lengthy Reddit thread started by fans devoted more to her looks and less to her talent, or even a blind item in Tatler about a wild night out in London with some _actual royalty_ following a charity gala. 

He tries to rationalize his behavior as being a good host. And it’s not weird to want to know more about someone who’ll be living in his house, is it? 

Who wouldn’t do that?

He’s so concentrated on the escalators that he completely ignores the elevators as a possible path to him and nearly starts out of his skin when a woman’s voice very close to him interrupts his thoughts.

“Dr. Benjamin Solo?”

He whirls to the sound and it’s her. She looks tired from her trip, but the same hazel eyes that grabbed him through his screen weeks before look up at him now in anticipation.

“Yes-- Miss Niima?” He holds up the sign between them as if to ward off the feeling he already gets just looking at her. 

She takes in the sight of him and a smile slowly lights her whole face before she thrusts forward her hand. “Just Rey will do. Thanks for coming to get me.” 

“Ben,” he replies. Her hand is warm and her grip firm and Ben’s aware he’s shaking it way too long, much longer than he would for any normal introduction. She doesn’t pull away, though, and her smile causes his breath to hitch. 

“Anytime,” he finally manages and breaks her hold. It’s then he notices the gear she’s lugging and the horse-and-carriage logo on her stainless steel rolling carryon bag. “Is uh--this all your luggage?” 

Her hazel eyes flash in amusement. “Mmmmm,” she hums, gesturing behind her with her head.

Standing a few feet behind her is a TSA agent, a large cart loaded with one more travel bag and a huge wooden trunk. 

“Right,” he nods. Of course, she’s not traveling for an indefinite international stay with only a carryon. The airport staff member hands over the cart at the same time as Rey shifts uncomfortably on her single crutch. 

Ben notes that though she’s moving slowly with her booted foot, she’s managing it all pretty well. Still, she offers him an appreciative nod when he takes over pushing her bag with his free hand. He can feel, just by touching the leather-wrapped handle and how smoothly the wheels glide over the terrazzo tiling, that this bag probably cost more than a small car. She’s got another leather purse slung over her slender shoulder and the material looks butter-soft, pebbled, and slightly oily under the lights. It bears the same discrete logo as her larger bag, and it's one he recognizes from his mother’s colleagues in Washington. 

The logo communicates a world all on its own: if you don’t know how much one of these costs, you don’t have enough money to bother asking. 

But the rest of her belies any assumed wealth. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into a thin ponytail, limp strands hanging in front of eyes that keep glancing his way warily. He can’t tell if she’s studying him or the landscape through the picture windows behind him. A green cardigan hangs over her shoulders, the cuffs thoroughly picked over, and the black leggings sitting on her slim hips are well-worn and faded. 

She is a series of limping contradictions. 

They are both silent as they make their way towards the front of the International Terminal, Rey’s gaze fixing more noticeably on the distant snow-capped mountains in apparent awe. It’s easy to forget them when he sees them all the time, but her expression reminds him that they’re there, and they’re… magnificent.

“I’ll get the truck from short-term parking if you wanna wait for me here?” 

She eases onto a bench just outside the door with a small nod and he parks the cart beside her, out of the way. 

He refuses to glance back as he waits for the traffic to allow him to cross to the garage. His hand goes to his neck to rub it and to keep his eyes straight ahead. 

_____________

When she emerges from customs with all her gear, she doesn’t see him at first because she’s looking for someone… smaller. She looked up his photo on the hospital website, so she knows he’s dark-haired and pale with freckles and a bit stern-looking. 

But the man she finally spots carrying a homemade sign bearing her name is quite tall, much more than his uncle, and he’s built like a tree.

Rey chalks the fluttering in her middle up to exhaustion as she announces herself.

“Dr. Benjamin Solo?”

The surprise doesn’t leave his eyes, nor the butterflies in her middle, through their awkward greeting and him ushering her outside where he leaves her to wait on a bench with her luggage. 

He rounds the curve in an older truck with a faded hood and jumps out to start putting her luggage in the back before she can rise to drag her bags closer. She feels lame leaning on her crutch just watching him, but the last thing she needs is her back out when her leg is already mangled. 

“Is that too—? Be careful, it’s heavy!” She watches as he maneuvers her tack trunk into the bed, sliding it forward to meet the back of the cab. His t-shirt rides up as he works and she can’t miss the way his solid torso ripples with the effort. His biceps flex and they look to be the size of her thigh. 

Rey swallows and works her thumb over the rust-spotted chrome door handle. 

He gives her a small smile as he closes the tailgate. “I got it.”

Then he’s at her side, hoisting her smaller carry-on and purse into the back seat of the truck along with her crutch and offering his hand for her to climb into the cab before he closes the door after her. She doesn’t know why her stomach does a loop when the skin of her palm brushes the calloused spots on his, despite his profession, but it does, and when she catches sight of herself in the side mirror -- and _stars_ , she looks a mess -- she grimaces. No doubt he’d looked her up as well. At the moment, she knows she looks like anything but what the glossy endorsement ads probably led him to expect. 

The ride isn’t too long and before an hour has passed, they’re turning up a dirt driveway lined with aspens whose slim branches are just beginning to burst with spring growth. They’ve barely spoken along the way, aside from him pointing out major landmarks on their route. Rey doesn’t mind him playing tour guide; it’s early in the day, but seven hours worth of jet lag have taken their toll, and she welcomes the silence as much as she finds herself enjoying listening to his smooth tenor as he works to fill it. 

The truck jolts, tires jumping over a shallow pothole in the road, and jerking Rey back to the present. Her eyes dart forward when she spots them. Further up the long drive, bordered by pastures and white slatted fences, a small herd grazes on the far side of a blanket of green, tails flicking over their backs against the early morning bugs. Their patterns catch her eye first, a wild swirl of white against caramel and chocolate, nothing like the glossy, muscular purebred jumpers she’s used to. These Western horses look short but sturdy and, contrary to her failed attempts over the past six weeks, she feels a glimmer of excitement at the thought of touching their unkempt manes.

“That’s the hay burners.” Ben gestures with one finger raised off the steering wheel. “Seven at the moment. I started with three that came with the place, then took on a few more here and there. My friend works with a local rescue and sometimes they run out of space at the shelter.”

She notices one white horse is grazing alone, distanced from the herd. “Like that one?”

“Yeah, that mare’s…” Ben shakes his head. “She’s got some damage. I can’t even touch her.” 

They pass the herd, their long necks swooping gracefully towards the ground, munching contentedly on the high grass, but Rey can’t tear her eyes off of the lone mare. She’s not pure white; her coat is flecked with brown and black spots that converge into larger pools of color over her hindquarters that drip into a dirty black tail. She raises her head at the truck’s motion and Rey can see, even at this distance, one clear, intelligent blue eye. 

Rey forces herself to look back ahead of them and spots the house up the way. It’s much smaller than she imagined for an American doctor’s house but it has a corrugated metal roof with a wrap-around patio under an overhang supported by wood beams. It looks cozy, tucked against the hill-- mountain?-- that rises behind it. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I can help with the barn chores--I’m getting along better every day with the boot and--”

“You don’t have to do that.” He sounds gruff as he jams the truck into park and kills the engine. “You’re here to get better.” 

Their eyes meet and she worries her bottom lip between her front teeth. His eyes jump down to them before he meets her gaze again and her insides flutter once more in her middle. 

“Let’s get your trunk into the barn. You probably wanna get cleaned up.”

With that, he’s out the door and taking down the gate before she can even open hers. Her trunk has wheels on the back edge and she watches as he steers it around a muddy puddle and over the gravel path to the small barn as though it weighs nothing. 

He doesn’t look back as she oozes out of the truck to the ground and presses her lips between her teeth. She can’t help but notice the way his faded blue jeans cling to his long thighs and narrow hips. Her breath raises a slight puff in the chilly morning spring air and she exhales slowly while counting to five.

_He’s doing you a favor_ , she repeats to herself. _No need to put the horse before the cart._

Her head spins a little with the change in altitude, and as she hobbles a few steps towards the wide stone steps, she could swear she hears a small voice in the back of her head reply. 

_But looking never killed anyone either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry for the long wait ... life, and some medical issues, got in the way for both of us, but we are back! And still intend to complete this fic, as promised! Thanks for reading!


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